


Other than Magic

by bossmonster



Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Crush, M/M, Raventrust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossmonster/pseuds/bossmonster
Summary: "Moroes.""Yes, sir?"





	

1.

 

Moroes, an old castellan to Medivh was taking the stairs leads up to Medivh's private quaters. He was holding a washbasin and a pitcher of warm water, clean towel hanging on his arm. This was the first job of his daily routine. Also it was, secretly, his favorite among other endless tasks of his as tasks of Karazhan.

Moroes found Medivh sitting on his bed, still slightly drowsy, totally guardless. There's no need to be alerted for this old man who is almost like shadow of Karazhan itself. Moroes'd never felt insulted from this notion, rather he felt comfortable with it, and took it granted.

The castellan laid the washbasin on a small bedside table, and poured warm water into in. Water emitted steam, added warmth in cool air of the room. Moroes soak the towel in water, and squeezed it adequately. With the most delicate motion, he carefully toweled the mage's face. Someone might be even shocked if they see this ghostly man can operate his ancient body with such delicacy.

The mage, still but lazily trying to shake off sleepiness, gave himself entirely into the hands of the old man. This was the only moment that this temperamental mage was as meek as a lamb, and Moroes liked it.

When the mage's face was neat and clean, Moroes duly covered the mage's delicate hands with warm towel to make its warmth permeate into ever cold fingers before wash them. Only then it seemed regain humane temperature. With satisfaction, he did the Magus's skinny feet the same.

Still, the old man's morning task's not over yet. He brought a wooden comb and gently brushed Medivh's wavy hair. Like a kitten, without awareness though, Medivh closed his eyes at its cozy feeling. Bring out silk strap from a drawer, Moroes tied the mage's hair neatly with a practiced hands.

Next task was a bit difficult. Moroes now added caution to his hands. He laid his bony finger on the Medivh's chin, and cautiously comb the mage's beard. The Magus tended to easily get annoyed and turn his head, so it took more time even though the task's simplicity.

So far, everything went as routine. By the time he finished, Medivh's emerald eyes usually starts glowing with intelligence, but not today. He seemed somehow distracted, but the castellan didn't asked why as always. It wasn't his duty. Moroes just helped Medivh taking off his long night shirts, and put a simple robe on Medivh's slender body. When he tied the last a knot of the robe, Medivh called him.

 

"Moroes."

"Yes, sir?"

 

But the next words didn't followed. It's odd, since usually words came out like a stream. Moroes found Medivh's eyebrows were lightly furrowed. However, of course, he didn't ask or urge his mage. He just waited.

Moments later, like a storm, Medivh dashed out the room as if he doesn't remember he tried to tell something to the castellan. That part was not odd at all, made Moroes relieved. Another day began.

 

 

2.

 

Over breakfast, Mores watched the Mages struggling.

Medvih's was doing as usual, and it gave the steward impression that he was doing experiment more than conversation. Fashion of Lordaeron, interest of mages Dalaran, Opinion on King Llane of Kirin Tor, seemingly endless questions were poured onto Khadgar―Medivh just kept asking this thing or that thing to the boy, like he's measuring and examining every possibilities. It appeared not awkward at all though, for quick shift of mood was the older mage's nature. What Medivh's seeking Moroes couldn't tell, but he could tell that the Magus still hadn't had right answer from the boy.

Khadgar, on his part, was endeavoring to follow the older mage's fickle pace and to answer all questions. Even though the older mage asked the same question he asked before, the boy just repeated the same answer politely and sincerely.

The old castellan liked the boy very much for his thoughtful attitude, such virtue the young man like the boy hardly ever had. And thank the boy for the effort to please his master, unless the magnificent mage's immense tantrum would be threw to this poor castellan.

 

 

3.

 

Moroes's the last task of everyday's more or less the same with his the first task of each day, only backward. He brought a washbasin and an water pitcher with warm water. He washed the Magus's face, hands, and feet. He undressed the robe, helped the mage change into night shirts. He had to be careful more than he was in the mornings, since Medivh's usually more cranky by the end of days.

When he untied Medivh's hair, Medivh called.

 

"Moroes."

"Yes, sir?"

 

Medivh seemed to hesitate briefly. Moroes didn't push. The Magus's brows knitted lightly before words came out.

 

"Do you know what lads like?"

"Lads, Sir?"

"You know, the young lads, teenagers, around- seventeen or so."

 

It was an odd question even for Moroes who got used to every sophistry and fickle temperament of the most powerful mage in world. However it sounded weird though, the old castellan quickly picked up what the mage meant. There was only one lad aged around-, no, precisely seventeen was the young man Khadgar, the Magus's one and only apprentice.

Moroes understood that the mage had no idea about such thing, since he'd never had a chance to be seventeen. But how Moroes- an old, much older than Medivh himself knows about taste of a young man? He had his seventeen too long ago. Moroes shrugged his shoulder.

 

"I could ask."

 

Medivh's furrow went deeper. A second later, the Magus snapped before he climbed on his bed.

 

"Don't bother."

 

 

4.

 

"Moroes?"

"Yes, young sir?"

 

Moroes answered the young man, tearing his gaze from the floor he'd sweeping. The boy with big puppy eyes had been satelliting him since he started cleaning up the library. It wasn't to help him apparently.

 

"You've been with Medivh long, right?"

"Too long, I assume."

"Then, you probably know what Medivh likes?"

 

Moroes tilted his head, which gesture only made Khadgar fear if the castellan's neck broken. Not noticing such concern, the old man mused about the question he already heard only a day ago, from the other person. The castellan took it as another ordinary oddity of living with wizards.

 

"He likes magic."

"Yes, of course, thank you. But, Uh, something else?"

"He likes books."

 

Moroes saw the young mage bit his lips before he spat out words.

 

"Right, he does. Thank you again, but-, okay. What do you normally say? with Medivh?"

"I don't say much. The Magus says."

"Good! And what would that be?"

"The golden whistle, prepare a room for emissary, do not clean up the laboratory until-."

 

The young mage held up his hands, stop the steward. Khadgar breathe in deeply, and out, and again before he finally open his mouth.

 

"Okay, Moroes. Let me put it this way. I need your help. I want to know what Medivh personally cares. He ever mentioned anything other than those?"

 

Moreos sank in thoughts. Other than those things, he couldn't recall any of topics he and the Magus had ever talked. Moroes tensed his muscle to shrug his shoulder once more, then he recalled something. If what the Magus mentioned other than magic or household is what he likes, Moroes knew one thing.

 

"You...?"

The boy tilted his head with a puzzled look.

 

"He mentioned you often."

"Of good thing...? Or something bad...?"

"Neither. He just asked what you would like."

 

Moroes didn't know why the boy's face became brighter than the sun.

 

5.

 

Moroes emerged from the shadow. Medivh's still working on his experiment. Emptied bowl and plate were place on the table. When he collected them without sound, the mage called without bothering to look back.

 

"Moroes."

"Here, sir."

"The boy?"

"He's still in the library."

"Hmm."

 

Mores waited there shortly until he could sure that the mage has nothing to say further. With plates on his hands, he slid into the shadow but for just a second. Medivh's short and meaningless question reminded the castellan of some conversation he had with Khadgar. As an earnest steward, it was his duty to answer to the mage's question, of course no matter how much time passed.

 

"Sir."

"Hmm?"

"It's you."

Ambiguity of the words caught the Magus's attention. With the most irritated look, Medivh tore his eyes from the experiment, and eyeing the steward.

 

"What is me?"

"What the lad likes. You asked me before?"

 

Medivh blinked his eyes. It gave Moroes impression of a bird.

 

"Nonsense!"

 

Medivh snapped and waved off the steward. Mores confused as he couldn't sure if he made the Magus irritated or pleased, for he found Medivh's voice sharp but saw the mage lips lightly curved into grin. However, that was just another ordinary oddity of living with wizards.

Again, relieved by unpredictable complexity of the mage, Moroes melted into the shadow.

 


End file.
